CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Earthquake
December 16, 1811
Zeb was shaken out of a deep sleep. He started to reach for his boots when his bedroll shook again. “All right! All right!” he whispered. “I’m up.”
His grampa sat up. “What’s goin’ on?”
The ground below them trembled violently. “What was that? Grampa, did you feel that?”
He tied his boot laces together and threw them around his neck, the boots dangling on his chest. He crawled out of the tent and stood barefoot to stare at the field of grass. A quarter moon was up, right over his head. Must be just a little after midnight, he noted. The ground below the grass was rippling like the surface of a big lake in a rainstorm, but he felt no wind. The ground trembled again and he heard branches snap and crash to the ground behind him.
His grampa crawled out next to him. “Earthquake!” he shouted. “C’mon! We’ve got to get away from these trees….”
They ran barefoot toward the meadow.
“Let’s go get the horses!” his grampa shouted. “We’ll take ’em to the center of the field.”
Now Zeb could hear great explosive snaps from the forest behind them, followed by a long whoosh as the giant trees crashed in the forest. The horses were neighing and someone was screaming in fear or in pain.
A strange odor wafted around the woods and the field. Zeb wrinkled his nose. Almost like rotten eggs, he thought, or like the smell when you strike flint with steel.
The dragoons had already begun moving the frightened horses to the center of the meadow. Zeb ran to help. He untied the reins from the tree limbs where the horses were tethered and soon had Kapucha’s and Christmas’s leads in his hands. His grampa was leading Andy and one of the draft horses to the center of the meadow. The shaking seemed to have stopped and the horses were beginning to calm down a bit.
The dragoons immediately cut pieces of wood to stake out their horses. Zeb was impressed with how calmly and quickly they handled emergencies, as if they had practiced what to do in case of an earthquake. But he knew that there hadn’t been an earthquake in this whole area in his lifetime, and no one had ever told him of one happening near here in the past.
Zeb’s grampa took the lead lines from him, and Zeb ran to where the Lodges were camping. The little girls sat in the bed of the wagon, peering wide-eyed over the edge. The younger one screamed, “Mama! Mama! Mama!” Zeb stepped between the traces and pulled the wagon out to the field.
Reverend Lodge and his wife pulled up the stakes of the tent, dragging it as they hurried behind the wagon into the meadow.
Zeb’s grampa ran up, grabbed one of the traces, and helped pull it to the center of the meadow. Then he pointed to their gear. “Quick, load our pack baskets onto the horses. Then get the small ax out and make some stakes. Be careful. Stay only at the edge of the woods. I think the earthquake is over, but some trees could still fall.”
Just as Zeb turned to get the ax, the earth began to shake again. Zeb was thrown to the ground. He was surprised to feel the vibrations through his hands. He looked up as the huge trees lashed back and forth.
Someone shouted, “River’s risin’!”
They all stared in horror at the other end of the meadow as the Pearl River began to overflow its banks. Zeb struggled back to his feet as the water rushed across the field. With a sudden hiss and a cloud of steam, the water extinguished the hot coals from the smoldering campfire.
When everyone looked for a place to run, Captain Morrison shouted, “Hold your positions! There is no higher ground!” He looked down at the water, now ankle deep. “I don’t think this will get much deeper.” He looked toward the river. “The earthquake must have blocked up the river downstream, but the water pressure will soon break the logjam.”
Hannah and her parents splashed through the water toward Zeb. Their shoes tied around their necks, they carried their bedrolls and other belongings over their heads.
When the shaking stopped, Captain Morrison sloshed through the water to the group gathered in the center of the field. “We learned about earthquakes at West Point Military Academy,” he told them. “These are probably aftershocks. We will have a number of them. I believe that each one will be a little less strong than the previous one, but could still be very dangerous.” He paused for a moment, then said, “We’ll wait until morning and if the river doesn’t rise any higher, we’ll continue our journey north.”
“But that’s impossible!” Dr. McAllister said. “How can we travel under these conditions?”
Captain Morrison replied, “We will move north at daylight. There is nothing to be gained by staying here.” He gestured around him. “The campsite is covered with water. There is no room for discussion.”
Zeb began to feel the water moving in the other direction across his bare feet. Slowly, the water drained back into the riverbed.
Mrs. Lodge climbed up into the wagon with the girls and held the little one in her arms, rocking her and talking to her quietly.
The missionary tried to fold the wet tent. Zeb took the other end, and together they draped it over a tree limb to dry.
It was barely light when the captain informed them that they would be moving out within the hour. “There is still some venison from last night,” he said. “Eat what you want. We’ll leave the rest for other travelers.”
Zeb folded the still-damp tent and tied it to the other bundles on the packhorse. He tacked up Kapucha for the trip north. Hannah and her parents were saddling their horses. The dragoons had their horses ready to go.
In the dark forest, it was impossible to see the sun rise, but they could sense the new dawn as they prepared to move out.
They lined up and moved onto the Nashville Road once again.
December 16, 1811